


Little Problems

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Cliche, Commitment, Family, Friends With Benefits, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Relationship(s), Platonic Female/Male Relationships, commitment issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9549743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: from an unwritten friends with benefits au, the most original idea in the whole world // Gil meets someone important in Rod's life, and it causes a little problem or two.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here are some notes about the au, since this is the only work that's written for it and basically has no foundation besides what i've laid out here:
> 
> \- gil and rod used to sleep together in a no strings attached way, but now are in a committed relationship w no title. like, they never said, “ok let’s be boyfriends”, but they basically are. they’ve had that arrangement for a year and a month, or so. they haven’t told anyone that they’re actually ‘dating’; all they’ve mentioned to the few ppl they each have told is that they’re just sleeping together (and it’s amazing).
> 
> \- rod is a freelance composer who works on movie soundtracks. he's managed to compose for some major hit movies. a good salary like his, combined with a sick inheritance, means that he's not exactly poor. meanwhile, gil is a construction worker that specializes in demolition, but he’s lowkey quit bc he has a rich bf and doesn’t need to work such a dangerous job anymore.
> 
> \- they’re both older than usual in this fic, w rod being 34 and gil being 35.

When he woke up, slowly stirring from the depths of warm, sleepy unconsciousness, his beautiful bed mate wasn’t beside him. But the aroma of sweet bread and coffee was making his stomach growl in the quiet of the bedroom, so he could take a decent guess as to where his partner was.

Gilbert lay on his back in the king-sized bed, sighing contently as his slightly aching body sank into the pliant mattress beneath him. The fluffy pillow his head rested on had a silk case that cooled his cheek as he rolled over. The bedroom was slightly cold, compared to the heat lingering in the embrace of the duvet. Gilbert cast a drowsy glance at his clothes, folded neatly on the divan at the end of the bed; he grabbed only his boxers as he stood and padded across the chilly wooden floor to the bathroom to clean himself up.

Once he cleaned himself up from the previous night, Gilbert pulled on his underwear and stepped out of the bathroom and lazily ignored his tidy pile of clothes. He pulled open the closed door and shuffled out the bedroom, scratching his pec and yawning widely.

He quietly descended the stairs to hear the sounds of active cooking coming from the kitchen. Gilbert grinned, pausing at the landing to inhale the delicious scents deeply. He continued going into the kitchen.

Behind the bustling stove was his lovely companion; Roderich was wrapped up in a rich purple robe, the sash tied firmly around his slender waist. His hair appeared to be combed with fingers, and there were no arms of glasses resting on his ears. The soft sound of a knife slicing through an apple was the only sound occupying the silence, along with the ticking of an oven timer.

Gilbert crept up behind him, then moved forward. He pressed flush against the other’s back in one fluid movement, arms snaking around his waist and burying his face in the crook of his neck.

Roderich jumped slightly, but relaxed as a kiss was pressed beneath his ear. “Good morning,” he began, tilting his head to press his temple against Gilbert's forehead. “You slept much later than you typically do. You must be getting lazier in your old age.”

“At least my hip doesn’t creak when I stand up,” Gilbert shot back, grinning against his neck. He raised his brows at the food on the counter. “So, what’s with the breakfast? You’re not expecting me to eat all of those, are you?”

Roderich hummed, reaching forward to pick the fruit knife up again. “No, I don’t,” he said after a few moments. “But I do expect you to eat something. Your eating habits are still so unhealthy.”

“Like yours are better,” Gilbert put in, nipping the junction of the other’s shoulder and neck. He bared his teeth, feeling the skin warm beneath the brush of his lips as the blush spread down that pale neck. “But no, you’re going to get me fat with all these carbs you're always feeding me. Hard to do, you know.”

“I always aim to succeed,” Roderich said, lips quirking up into a half smirk. “Especially when you’re involved.”

“You go out of your way just to impress little old me?” Gilbert grinned wolfishly, sliding his hand up Roderich’s side to squeeze his hip. “Aw, babe, I’m flattered.”

Roderich’s ears colored, but as he raised a hand to cover Gilbert’s, he pursed his lips. “Gilbert, how much clothing are you wearing, by chance?” he asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

“Not much,” Gilbert mumbled, sliding his hand up and slipping it beneath the fold of the plush violet robe. “Why? Do you want me in less? Because I can do that and more, baby.”

“No, no.” Roderich pulled Gilbert’s hand out of his robe and continued to hold it as he turned, leaving the oven unattended for a short moment. His eyes raked up and down Gilbert’s mostly bare body. “Oh, no, this won’t do,” he remarked. His eyes darted to the old-fashioned clock on the wall, its cuckoo not yet emerged from the tiny doors. “Go back to the bedroom and put on some clothes. If you don’t feel like wearing the ones from yesterday, the botton drawer in the dresser is filled with laundry you’ve left here in your hurries.”

“Why don’t you come help me out?” Gilbert asked in a low, suggestive tone. He pulled Roderich in closer, smirk growing into a leer.

Roderich, oddly enough, shook his head and pushed him back. “No, Gilbert, I’m serious. Go put some clothes on.”

Deterred, Gilbert let the leer drop. “Why?” he asked, letting Roderich readjust his wandering hands into a decent position on his waist. “Expecting company?”

Roderich winced. “Sort of,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the stove top. He pulled Gilbert’s hands off of him and turned away, placing aside the core of a green apple and tilting the cutting board up to push the slices he'd cut into a small, awaiting bowl with delicate flowers painted on it. It was his better china, the set his grandmother left him and his parents hadn't wanted after getting their own set.

Gilbert tilted his head, confusion crossing his face. “Sort of?” he echoed, removing his hands from Roderich’s waist and moving to stand beside him. “What do you mean, 'sort of'? Who’s coming over?”

Roderich paused to bend down and peek into the oven. “It should be very soon,” he said, glancing at the clock on the wall again. The time was 9:35. “I didn’t expect you to stay this long, since you're usually gone by now, so I told them to come by 9:30.”

“'Them’?” Gilbert asked. “Who’s ‘them’?” His eyes darkened at the possibilities, and he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms accusingly. “Must be pretty important if you got up before ten to make them breakfast.”

Roderich picked up on his tone, and threw him a frown. “It’s the harem of gorgeous men I’ve been keeping secret from you,” he said sarcastically. “ Please. Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Gilbert.”

“Then, who is it?” Gilbert pressed, leaning in a little closer. “And why haven’t you introduced me to them if they’re so important?”

Roderich turned to reply, mouth opened with a scathing remark surely on the tip of his tongue. But at that moment, the sound of a door opening reached both of their ears and momentarily distracted them from the beginnings of their small disagreement.

“Roddy!” a female voice called from the foyer, punctuated by the closing slam of a door. “We’re here!”

Panic pinched Roderich’s refined features into a small gape and round eyes. He reached down and quickly untied the sash around his waist, fumbling with the loose knot.

“In the kitchen!” he yelled back, shrugging the robe off of his shoulders, revealing a sleeping tank top. There was a faint purple mark on his pulse point, standing out stark against the lily white of his neck. He shoved the robe into Gilbert’s hands. “Hurry, put that on,” he hissed, slipping behind him and pushing him toward the table on the other side of the kitchen. “And sit. I’ll explain later, I promise.”

Gilbert slowly pulled on the robe, enticing Roderich to stalk over and hurry him up. Just as his slim, quick hands tied a firm knot in the robe sash, two people entered the kitchen.

“..Liz?” Gilbert asked, eyes widening at the sight of the familiar woman crossing the cherry-wood floor with a confidence. She was holding a dark green coat, having obviously just removed it, with a red dress and black tights beneath it; leg warmers were pulled onto her shins and she wore matching red pumps. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled into a bun on top of her head, tied up with a bright pink scrunchie that looked mismatched with her color-coded outfit.

Elizabeta stopped short. “Gilbert?” she asked back, mouth falling open at the sight of him, seated at Roderich’s table, in his kitchen, in his house, wearing his robe on top of it all. She bristled. “What… what the hell are YOU doing here?!”

Gilbert scoffed. “My house, bitch. What are YOU doing here?“

Roderich coughed awkwardly, and they both looked over at him. Gilbert’s heart pattered to a stop when he noticed the small, waist-tall child holding his hand. “I see that you both already know each other,” he said, eyes flickering between them. “But… Beta, this is the man I told you about.”

Elizabeta’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, and before Gilbert could snicker at her shock, Roderich turned to him. “And Gilbert, this is Elizabeta, my ex-wife.”

"Wait, what?! She’s your…” Gilbert gawked at him. Movement at Roderich's waist captured his attention, and he glanced down. “And that?” he managed to utter through his shock. He pointed to the child attempting to shuffle back and hide behind Roderich. “Who is that?”

Roderich’s eyes were narrow with irritation as they gazed into his own. “This… is my son. Maximilian.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s the second part!
> 
> some things to know prior to reading:
> 
> \- maximilian franz is the name of kugelmugel in this au. he’s eight years old, and was born in May during the second year of rod’s second marriage. he's an autistic boy who really likes art; his favorite medium is painting, since his auditory synthesia inspires such beautiful color combinations. (info on synthesia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synesthesia)
> 
> \- his first marriage was to antonio fernandez carriedo, aka spain. just for your information ;)
> 
> \- elizabeta is rod’s ex-wife and second spouse; she’s 34 as well but is a few months older than him. they have been best friends since their sophomore year of high school and eventually got married, but their relationship was tense after the birth of their son. they got divorced but surprisingly, their relationship is even better than it was while they were married. it's like their high school friendship again :)
> 
> \- elizabeta gets their son for the second half of each year.

“You have a son?!”

Roderich sat at the head of the bed, legs drawn up close to his chest and back against the headboard. The cool wood was seeping through the thin shirt he'd put on, and easing his high temperature. He continued to stare at his hands resting on his knees, pointedly ignoring the man who was pacing around his bedroom.

Gilbert was unexpectedly furious after the breakfast with Elizabeta and Maximilian. “You have a son,” he said for quite possibly the hundredth time. “You have a son. And that devil woman was your wife? And you didn’t tell me?!“

“Believe it or not, the subject never came up in conversation,” Roderich said calmly, bringing up a hand to bite at his smallest fingernail.

“That’s a shitty excuse,” Gilbert snapped. “It’s common courtesy to inform a guy you’re gonna fuck if you have kids and a wife!”

“I have ONE child, and Beta is my EX-wife,” Roderich corrected, narrowing his eyes at Gilbert. “And no, it is not ‘common courtesy.’ Why would I bother with informing you of that back when we met?”

“Because… because.. fuck, I don’t know!”

“Then why does it matter?”

“It just DOES!”

They were staring each other down; Gilbert’s eyes were fiery with rage, and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

Roderich closed his eyes to block out that hateful glare, sucking in a breath through his nostrils and letting it leave him in a long, slow gust. “Why does it bother you so much?” he asked tiredly, rubbing his eyes. “Max enjoyed your company at breakfast, even after how insensitive you were.”

*

Roderich gave his miniature clone a warm smile. It was similar to the look Gilbert had woken up to every day for the past two weeks, and made his heart jitter with confusion despite his surprise and anger. “Good morning, schatz,” he said, gently ruffling the boy’s hair. “I made breakfast for you. Are you in the mood for Rundstykker?”

“I like those,” the boy replied. He had a very soft voice, with the same musical lilt as Roderich’s accent. “Do you have raspberry jam?”

“Of course. I also cut some apples, if you would like some of those too.” Roderich herded the boy toward the table, and pulled out the chair across from Gilbert from him. He shot Gilbert a look. “Would you like some Danish buns? They're one of his favorites.”

Gilbert blinked. “No thanks.”

Roderich thinned his lips with displeasure, recalling how he'd mentioned he'd wanted Gilbert to eat something, then moved over to the oven. Elizabeta, who had silently been standing in the doorway and kept throwing Gilbert bewildered glances, moved over to help him carry plates, and he thanked her quietly.

As the food was transferred to the table and they all sat down, Roderich taking the place beside Gilbert while Elizabeta sat beside their son, the shock slowly began to ease from Gilbert. He managed to numbly pour himself a glass of orange juice, and eventually accepted a Danish bun, but he couldn't seem to find his earlier appetite.

“So Roderich,” Elizabeta began. She was stirring two sugars into her tea, the spoon clinking against the sides of the china cup. “Have you finished that score?”

Roderich shot Gilbert one last concerned glance before turning to her entirely. “I finally did,” he said, raising his glass of orange juice up to sip from. “I was hit with an inspiration at two am last weekend, and worked all night to complete it. You know how it goes.”

“I do,” she laughed softly. “Two am is your most brilliant hour, Roddy."

Roderich shrugged, a small half smile on his face. “Let’s just say, I’ve found the muse every artist DREAMS of having. I’ve composed enough in the past few weeks to catch up on all the work I’ve put off, and more."

“Before your deadline has passed?" Elizabeta said, faking shock. "How amazing!"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop."

"What? Can you blame me? You have been putting off all that work for months, dear. You must have worked like a fiend to get it all done in time!"

Roderich huffed a tiny laugh. "That is true."

“Well, congratulations.” Elizabeta laughed again, before it quieted down as her eyes flickered over to Gilbert, who was silently picking at his pancakes with a frown on his face. She raised her eyebrows at Roderich, tilting her head toward him. After years of friendship, and marriage too, they'd developed the ability to read each other like books, facial expressions and tone of voice jumping out at them like signals.

Roderich thinned his lips and blinked hard, shaking his head in a barely visible movement. He looked back down at his half-finished bun and took a sip of tea, drawing the silence out by keeping the cup close to his mouth. A change of subject was of utmost importance; the tension was simply too much. Roderich lowered his tea cup and turned his attention toward his quiet child, giving a small smile.

“So, what did you do at Beta’s house, schatzi?” he inquired.

Roderich’s son kept his eyes on his plate. “We went to the art museum in Budapest,” he answered. “The Muck-ar-not.”

“No, no, kicsikém,” Elizabeta said gently, “Műcsarnok. The Kunsthalle, Roderich.”

Roderich nodded, knowing which museum they visited. “Did they have any new art displayed this time?” he asked.

“No, but that’s okay. I still liked it just as much as I did the first time.” Max stuffed the remainder of the bun in his mouth and ended his end of the conversation, ignoring a chiding tsk from his father as raspberry jam and crumbs stuck to the corners of his mouth.

Roderich hummed. “Art can never get old,” he remarked. “Eye of the beholder and such.”

Elizabeta gave an awkward cough, and, in a desperate move to break the tension that had fallen over them once again, asked, “What about you, er… Gilbert?”

The distant German twitched at the sound of his name, and he looked up at Elizabeta, who was staring at him. “Huh?” he asked.

She was patient with him, for once. “I asked, do you like art?”

“Nah. Don’t like how people can throw paint at a piece of paper and get a million dollars for it. Think it’s stupid.” He spoke in short, irate bursts, then punctuated his answer with a long drought from his glass of juice. He slammed the glass back down, and it reverberated in the awkward silence that had fallen.

Gilbert shoved his chair back with a scrape of chair legs against the tile floor. “I’m going upstairs,” he declared shortly.

Roderich frowned at him as he deposited his dishes in the sink then marched upstairs, feet stomping angrily on each step he took. His nose wrinkled, eyebrows drawn together in frustration, and he let out an annoyed sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. 

*

“Besides,” Roderich continued, watching warily as Gilbert sat on the divan with a bodily weight. “I wasn’t planning on introducing you to him yet. I know about your commitment issues. Do you think I would place a responsibility like that on you?" He attempted to maintain his grace as he scooted down to the foot of the bed, and placed his hands on Gilbert’s hunched shoulders. “I was so lucky to have this happen,” Roderich murmured, slowly leaning over and kissing the nape of his neck. “I didn’t want to push that luck. Don’t you understand?”

“No, I don’t really.” Gilbert shrugged his hands off and stood. He was silent for a long moment, drawing out Roderich's fear with each angry twitch of his shoulders. “I think... I need to think,” he said, back still turned and fists still clenched.

Roderich inhaled sharply at that, staring at Gilbert’s scarred back with wide eyes. The corners of them began to sting, and he swallowed thickly. “What are you talking about,” he breathed. “Stop acting like an idiot and think reasonably.”

“I AM thinking reasonably.” Gilbert turned, eyes downcast and pointedly refraining from meeting Roderich’s as he took his shirt from the pile of clothes he still hadn’t put on and pulled it over his head. “And I think I’m gonna leave. For a while.”

The words hit Roderich like a slap, and he flinched. Quickly, hurt and anger filled him in the brink of shock, and he snatched Gilbert’s pants. “You’re going to leave?” he snarled and throwing them to the side. Maybe it was childish, but in the heat of the moment, he didn’t care. “Just because I have a child? Whom I wasn’t even going to concern you with!? This might just be the most selfish thing you've ever done!”

Gilbert gave him a half-lidded glare and bent to pick up his pants. His jaw was clenched and his movements were jerky with irritation, but he remained frostily quiet; the unspoken answer burned.

Roderich’s expression morphed, instincts he'd learned long ago kicking in. His scowling mouth pressed into a thin, stern line; his eyes froze over and his gaze turned icy. His voice was neutral and carefully guarded, not betraying any of the intense emotion he was gripped with. He numbly pulled his robe on and tied it with a jerk.

“I see,” he said. “Well, if that is what you wish. I’ll escort you downstairs.”

“I can escort myself, thanks,” Gilbert muttered, tying his boot laces with a jerk of the strings.

“Nonsense. I’ll be going downstairs anyway.” Roderich brushed the wrinkles out of the robe he’d put back on. “To the music room. Today is a good day to pay Beethoven some homage. I have not appreciated him in quite some time."

Gilbert's throat tightened as he recalled the knowledge of what that meant. Beethoven was Roderich's go-to man for releasing anger. And no doubt, the dead composer would be played to death by the end of the day. He swallowed as he stood and turned, hearing soft footsteps behind him as Roderich followed suit. They went downstairs, Gilbert all but speed-walking to the door, Roderich taking his sweet time as usual.

Gilbert hesitated in the doorway of the living room at the sight of the son sitting against the arm of the couch, what seemed to be a sketchbook in his lap. The child kept glancing up, eyes narrowed in concentration as he studied the dozing cat at the other end of the sofa, and sketching a few lines at a time. 

Roderich brushed behind him, and the child detected their movements in the doorway. He looked up from his book. 

“You’re leaving,” he said, observing Gilbert carefully.

Gilbert glanced at his feet. The kid inherited Roderich's piercing gaze, right down to the same shade of brown and otherworldly perceptiveness. He hated being stared through like that, and by an eight year old nonetheless. “Yeah.”

“Goodbye then.” With that, Maximilian returned to sketching the cat, who'd also looked up at the sound of other voices speaking.

“Uh. Bye, kid.” Gilbert hurried through the living room, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. Roderich was already at the door, face drawn into a professional sort of detachment as he opened it and stepped aside so Gil could move past him.

Gilbert stepped out onto the front porch, and instantly wished he had a jacket. January weather and short sleeves didn’t go well together. He turned back to the door, the sight of Roderich standing in the doorway filling his vision.

“Give me some time to think this over,” he started, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m… sorry.”

“I don’t need your apologies, Gilbert.” Roderich raised his chin, regarding him down the bridge of his nose. “I need you to get off of my property.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Gilbert muttered, wincing again.

“No, deciding to leave me because I happen to have a child is harsh.” Roderich stepped back into the foyer, and began to close the door. “Goodbye, Gilbert.”

The door closed with a resolute slam, and Gilbert was hit with the sudden realization that that was not the proper thing to do when discovering your significant other had a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes: i did a bit of research on a 'typical austrian breakfast'. apparently, they keep it light and not too demanding, with simple things like coffee or tea (or maybe orange juice, for children), and some type of pastry, usually accompanied with some fruit. 
> 
> the premise of this chapter was basically "couples fight over stupid stuff." spoiler alert, they get back together in the next chapter ;) so it doesn't last for long


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no starting notes for this chapter, since all of the background info has already been revealed! ;) 
> 
> warning: the first section has some pretty strong language in it. prussia and hungary have no shame in their potty mouths, after all. then the last section... it's so sappy, it's like i tapped into a maple tree. but regardless, i hope you enjoy the last chapter anyways! it took me several hours to crank out, so comments would be appreciated!!

“Beilschmidt, I am going to kick your ass.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you too, Liz,” Gilbert flatly said to the woman standing on his porch step.

Elizabeta scowled at him. “Cut the shit,” she snarled, stalking toward him. As she muscled her way into his apartment, she gave him a hard shove into the wall as she did. “I’m here for answers.”

“Yeah, just come right on in, I’d love for you to invade my personal space and cause me grievous bodily harm in my own house.” Rolling his eyes, Gilbert reluctantly closed the door and turned to follow her into the flat.

She stood in front of the coffee table, which was covered in beer cans. “Trying to drown your sorrows?” she sneered.

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. “Trying and failing,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Serves you right, if you ask me.” Liz huffed and crossed her arms, glaring green daggers at him. “Calling my son ‘baggage’ and using him as an excuse to leave. I can’t believe you would do that to him.”

“Yeah, well.” Gilbert brushed past her and went into the conjoined kitchen. He bent in front of the stove and pulled out a beer, popping it open using the bottle opener on the counter. “I don’t like kids.”

“That’s a shitty excuse. You LOVED your brother when HE was little, you're just being an ass.” Liz came to stand beside him, and as he ignored her, tilting the bottle up to drink, she put a hand on the end and pushed it up, causing the opening to slip off of his mouth and spill down his shirt.

Gilbert sputtered, jumping away from her and righting the bottle in the same instant. “Fuck!” he snarled, looking down at his shirt. “This was my last clean shirt, dammit!”

“Tell me why you did it,” she insisted.

“I told you,” he snapped, “I don’t like kids. They make everything complicated.”

“Oh, and it was simple before?” Liz scoffed. “Bringing a kid into the mix wasn’t going to make it anymore complicated than it already was.”

“Yes, it was.” Gilbert leaned against the counter. “Liz, you wouldn’t get it. They’re your son and ex-husband, you love them unconditionally.”

“You love him too,” she pointed out, leaning on the counter beside him. Liz took his opened beer and took a drink of it, wrinkling her nose and passing it to him.

Gilbert sneered. “Who said?” he grumbled, taking the beer from her. He took a step away and turned his back to her before topping it up and downing half of it in one breath.

“I said. Gilbert Beilschmidt doesn’t sit around his apartment with a week-old beard and beer cans everywhere just because of ANYbody,” she said, crossing her arms and giving him a solemn look. “Listen, you're in love with my ex-husband. That's just fact, at this point. Which works out well, because Rod loves you too! And I just know that if you gave him a chance, you’d love Max too–”

“No,” Gilbert interrupted. “Just forget it, Liz.”

Liz turned to him, eyebrows arched high and lips slanted pleadingly. “Hear me out. I KNOW you’d love him, I know it!“

He winced. “Liz, don’t–”

“He’s very easy to please and loves just as easily as Roddy does,” she continued. “He misses having a second parent around and would adore you if you just TRIED–”

“Liz, enough.” Gilbert slammed his hand on the counter, cutting her off. “You’re making me want to get to know your son even LESS with this shit, you goddamn nag!”

“I’m only being a goddamn nag because I want you to fix this!” Liz put her hands on his shoulders and shook him angrily. Her nails dug into his skin. “I want you to be happy, you dick! You’re making both of you so miserable by doing this! A child from a previous marriage shouldn’t end the only good relationship you’ve ever had, you dumbass!”

Gilbert pried her hands off of his shoulders and glared, obviously fixing to rebuke. Then, the fight seemed to leave him as he absorbed her words, and he sighed, deflating as the exhale went on. “I… need another drink. Or maybe ten,” he said.

Liz grinned at him. “That sounds like a ‘damn, you’re right’ to me.” She turned to the fridge and pulled two drinks out of it. She pried off the cap on one and pressed it into his hand. “Drink up. Being a fucking moron must be hard to deal with.”

As he gave her a loving kick in the shins and took another long drink of beer, she punched his shoulder and continued. “And once you’re done with that and sober, go shave off that gross depressed enclave beard and put on some clean clothes. You’re gonna fix all this trouble A-S-A-P, or else.”

*

Roderich stared down at the piano keys, elbows propped on the music rest and head held in his hands. His fingers felt heavy, and a familiar slice of frustration cut through the numbness as he played another sour note. 

Gilbert’s decision to leave had torn him apart. He’s spent the rest of that day pounding out Beethoven, then Chopin as the anger shifted into anguish. He spent his nights in bed alone, sleeping on the left side of the bed where Gilbert usually slept and burying his face in his pillow.

“How undignfied,” he mumbled as the lines between the keys blurred, and his eyes stung.

Suddenly, a series of chimes overhead made him raise his head; someone was ringing the doorbell at eight at night, according to the clock on the wall. Roderich straightened from leaning over his piano, blinking hard as the chimes went on.

“Vati,” a small voice piped up from the doorway, and Roderich turned to see Maximilian peeking into the room. “Someone’s at the door.”

“I'm not scheduled to meet with anyone, so I don’t know who it is,” Roderich replied evenly. “And I don’t feel well enough to confront anyone at the moment. Let it ring, they’ll leave eventually.”

Maximilian nodded, but didn’t move from the doorway. Instead, he stepped into the music room and approached Roderich carefully. “You said you don't feel well. Are you sick, Vati?” he asked. He tugged on his father's shirt sleeve, gesturing for him to bend down, and when Roderich did, Max placed a hand on his forehead in a mimicry of what his mother had done when he'd caught a sickness last year. “You haven’t sounded well in forever.”

Roderich pressed his lips into a thin line and slowly nodded. “I’m not exactly sick,” he said, drawing away and rubbing his forehead with a sigh. “I’m simply… stressed.”

Maximilian nodded, apparently understanding. He patted Roderich’s arm. “Maybe you should make a cake?” he suggested. “Cake always makes me feel better. Especially baumkuchen."

“Perhaps you’re right. Thank you, liebchen.” Roderich smiled, but then frowned again as the doorbell chimes sounded again. He scowled, then carefully rose from his piano bench. “Ugh. Stay here, I’ll go answer it."

Maximilian nodded and sat on the bench, turning to face the piano. He began to play Chopsticks as Roderich stalked from the music room and into the foyer hall.

He stepped up to the door and tilted his head, closing one eye as he peered through the peephole. What greeted him made him reel back from the door, eyes round and heart thumping. Putting one hand on his chest to attempt to calm himself, Roderich leaned back in to look again, to confirm that he wasn’t imagining things.

Roderich ran a hand through his hair nervously, stepping back from the door as if it would harm him to be near it. His stomach twisted at the glimpse of who was on his doorstep. He put a hand on his forehead, the sweat of his palm cooling his hot forehead. As the doorbell chimed for a third time, he realized that there was no escaping the confrontation, and quickly refolded his collar and combed his fingers through his hair again. Adjusting his glasses, he unlocked the doorknob and slowly twisted it, pulling it open slightly.

“Hello,” he said.

Gilbert looked at him, and the breath seemed to rush out of him in a cloud of steam. Judging by the faint scent of cigarette smoke, he'd stopped to have a quick one before coming here. “Hey,” he replied, sounding as if he was recovering from a sprint. “H-hey...”

“You already said hey, you don’t need to say it again,” Roderich commented, stepping out from mostly behind behind the door.

Gilbert shrugged. “Can I, uh, come in?” he inquired. He rubbed the back of his neck, a longtime nervous habit, and his eyes darted around.

Roderich glanced down at his shoes. “Why would you want to?” he asked in return.

“It’s like freakin’ Siberia out here, for one,” Gilbert said, lowering his hand and rubbing his right wrist with it. He’d broken it years ago after a playground scuffle in elementary school, and now it ached in cold weather, reacting to the pressure changes in the atmosphere, another sign of age. “Also, I want to.. uh, well.. talk. It’s important.”

Roderich pursed his lips. “I suppose,” he said slowly, moving aside and opening the door wider. Gilbert hurried in, sighing in relief as the warm air washed over him. Roderich shut the door and brushed past him. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked, turning back to direct the question at him.

“Not gonna lie, something warm would be pretty welcome.” Gilbert cupped his hands around his nose and blew breath onto his palms, then rubbed them together. “But if it’s a bother, don’t worry about it.”

“I have cider and hot chocolate,” Roderich suggested, and Gilbert nodded with a quiet 'hot chocolate, please’ in reply. “Head toward the kitchen, then. I’ll be there momentarily. Feel free to choose a mug from the cabinet.” He walked down the corridor, then disappeared into a room. Gil realized that someone was playing Chopsticks in an amateurish manner throughout their encounter, and it stopped as Roderich went into that room and began to talk.

Gilbert turned into the kitchen and went over to the cabinets. He pulled one plain blue mug out, then reached for another after a moment of thought.

Footsteps made him turn, and his heart jumped a little as Roderich entered, moving in that waltz-like way of his. A smile threatened to pull at his mouth, but it disappeared as a smaller figure walked in after the former.

“Have a seat, Gilbert,” Roderich said, taking the mugs from him while he was staring at the child that entered behind him. “I’ll make the drinks.”

“Yeah… yeah, okay.” He made his way around the island and watched the son pull himself up into a chair at the counter; he took the second seat for himself and sat as well.

Roderich worked in silence, and Gilbert and the son – Maximilian – sat in silence. When Roderich finally placed two mugs in front of both of them, filled with steaming, rich brown cocoa with white marshmallows bobbing on the surface, Maximilian took his and carefully slipped off of the chair.

“Thank you, Vati,” Maximilian said, and Roderich gave him a small smile and waved as he departed, moving slowly and keeping his mug even.

Roderich took his son’s seat at the island counter, and sat with his upper body partially turned away from Gilbert. He focused his eyes on his hands, drumming his fingers on the counter top to some tune in his head. When he seemed to finally steel his courage and turn to Gilbert, his bemusement visibly dissolved, and he bite his lip, bringing one slender hand up – the nails were bitten down, and the skin looked dry – to cover his mouth.

“Gilbert,” he began, trying (and failing) to hide the laughter in his voice. “Your lip…”

Gilbert blinked, furrowing his brows in confusion. Realization dawned on him as Roderich lowered his hand and tapped a finger between his upper lip and nose, and he smirked. “What? Don’t like my mustache?” he asked, propping one elbow on the counter and posing. “I think it makes me look distinguished. Mature and stuff.”

“As distinguished as a child, perhaps,” Roderich huffed, a soft note of a chuckle in his words.

“What, you’re not into hot chocolate mustaches?” Gilbert asked, faking confusion and bewilderment.

“Maybe I was when I was five years old,” Roderich replied, hiding a smirk behind his hand.

Gilbert grinned, crossing his leg over his other knee. “As long as we’re together, we’ll always be young.”

Roderich reached for the paper towel roll holder and tore a napkin off. “Please,” he scoffed, eyes half lidded and hazy with fondness. “You have hair growing in your ears."

"But your gray eyelashes aren't a point?"

"That is exactly the point, you moron, we're not young anymore."

Gilbert grinned. "Guess I'll never have to wipe it off, eh?"

Roderich shook his head, chuckling quietly. It was like music to Gilbert’s ears. “Gilbert,” he said, turning to him. The smile slowly began to fade. “You realize that you can’t simply come into my house, make a few jokes, and expect everything to be as it was before. Surely you aren’t that foolish.”

Gilbert opened his mouth, but the words he had spent hours practicing to his reflection in the bathroom mirror and to the stale air freshener hanging from his rear view mirror died on his tongue, as Roderich stared at him, dark blue eyes swimming with emotion behind the lenses of his spectacles. Hoping to avoid words, he closed his mouth and wiped his top lip of the hot chocolate mustache.

Roderich looked back down at the counter. “You said you came here to talk. It’s important,” he added, using Gilbert’s exact words from earlier. “So I suggest you cut to the chase soon. I have to take my son to school early tomorrow.”

“Why didn’t he stay at Liz’s for longer?” Gilbert asked, bringing his mug up again.

“It's my half of the year to keep him. Besides, Beta is going to be traveling for the next few months, and she obviously couldn't take him with her,” Roderich explained. “She’ll be pursuing a doctorate in child psychology. In addition, he doesn’t know a word of Hungarian, besides Beta’s nicknames and a few basic things like greetings. School would be a struggle, as you can imagine.”

“Yeah, I get that. Doctor Liz, huh?” Gilbert thinned his lips and hummed noncommittally. “Good for her.”

“Yes, good for her, indeed.” Roderich looked at him sidelong. “Why? Will my son staying with me bother you?”

Gilbert blurted, “No,” and the other narrowed his eyes. “No, it won’t. I swear, Prussian honor.

“Look,” Gilbert started, rubbing a hand down his face. His expression changed, and he suddenly appeared older than merely thirty five. “I… no.. Roderich. You know I’m not good at this whole feelings thing. I was a pain in the ass a few months ago, when I started to… you know.”

He looked at Roderich from under the ridge of his eyebrows, and blushed. “…like you, and all that…”

His brows pulled together, a thoughtful crease forming between them, and he gazed down at Roderich’s hand, resting idly on the counter top. He reached out and placed his own on top of it, curling his fingers around the other’s and sucking in a breath.

“I was an ass, when I sorta dumped you a few weeks ago,” Gilbert confessed, pulling their hands between them and giving Roderich’s a squeeze. “I have my reasons, but… they’re not that good, in hindsight. I’m scared of kids because… I don’t.. want them to learn from me and grow up into a fuck up. I raised one kid, and he’s got enough issues because of me. West might be successful – unlike me – but the poor kid can barely express any emotions beyond annoyance. And he works too much, because I used to tell him, 'West, you gotta work hard for your happiness, you can’t just take it easy and expect it to come to you.’ Now, he has no idea how to relax. He works himself to sickness, I’m scared he’s gonna send himself to the hospital and I’ll never see him again.

"I’m a thirty-something year old guy who can’t keep a job, barely has a high school education, no hopes left. I’ve slept around, I’m an alcoholic, and a genuine relationship is the only thing I’ll turn tail and run for my life from. Sad. Pathetic…

Gilbert stared hard at Roderich, the whites of his eyes turned red. “What if that kid… winds up like me?”

Roderich’s eyes softened. “Gilbert, you really are a fool,” he breathed, his own fingers squeezing the other’s. He brought Gilbert’s hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across the back of his palm, along the faded line of a scar, then regarded him with warm eyes that swam with violet specks in the dim kitchen lighting.

“You’re a thirty-five year old man who has worked harder than anyone I’ve ever known,” he started. “You listen to your instincts and value loyalty above everything else. Even after the trials you’ve been forced through – losing your father, your grandfather, having to raise Ludwig on your own, being ostracized because of your looks, stressing over bills every month for years, being violently beaten within an inch of your life because you made a mistake – even after all of that, you can still laugh about a stupid joke you heard twenty years ago, and try to make others laugh along with you.

"You’d do anything for your brother; for Elizabeta, for those stupid friends of yours. For me. Even if it meant risking your safety like an idiot, you’d do it anyway. When you want something, you pursue it with the determination of a Rottweiler, and your sense of justice is probably the fairest I’ve ever seen.

"You play the flute because it reminds you of simpler, happier times. You have a pair of eagle wing tattoos on your shoulder blades to hide scars, and to symbolize your heritage. You were the best in your class in Physics, but hid it because of this same kind of paranoia that people would like you less because you were better at it than they were and because it made you a 'nerd’. And, the best part…”

Roderich removed his glasses and looked at him with glowing eyes. “…you manage to love ME, despite all of my glaringly obvious flaws.”

Gilbert stared at him, eyes glistening. “I love you,” he whispered, hand tightening around Roderich’s. “And I’ll love him too. That kid-- I mean, Max. It won’t be very hard, if he’s anything like you.”

Roderich swallowed, scooting to the edge of his seat. He put his hand on Gilbert’s right arm, fingers curling into the fabric covering his bicep, and leaned in.

“And we’ll definitely love you too,” he breathed in return, tilting his head as he moved in to meet the other in a kiss that topped all others.

*

Maximilian peeked around the door frame, his empty cocoa mug clutched in hand. He watched the two press close and kiss like they didn’t know he was there. With a small smile, he moved away from the doorway and turned, quietly heading back toward his bedroom, glad that Roderich would no longer be sick with stress now that Gilbert returned.

"Hot chocolate fixes everything,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so it ends :') 
> 
> maybe that epilogue will come someday............
> 
> ......
> 
> ....NAH, LOL
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!! thank you for reading!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> so, you might recognize this threeshot from tumblr, if you browsed on the pruaus tag at all? this fic is a little older than one year, so on the anniversary of the first post date, i'm posting it here too!! mostly 2 add to my statistics, since this account is a lil sad and barren, but also jsut to revitalize the tag again. i may not be into hetalia anymore, but pruaus will probably always hold a special little place in my heart ;; 
> 
> ik the fandom is much smaller than it used to be, especially for a rarer pair like this one, but if you can spare some time to comment, i would really appreciate it!! comments mean the world, honestly :')


End file.
